


Steel for Humans

by NamelesslyNightlock, Rabentochter



Series: Veni, Vedi, Witcher [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Witcher (TV), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Anal Fingering, Asphyxiation, Attraction, BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Tony Stark, Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Bloody Kisses, Choking, Clever Loki (Marvel), Clever Tony Stark, Consensual Sex, Control, Dark, Dark Ending, Dark Loki (Marvel), Dark Odin (Marvel), Dark Tony Stark, Desire, FFF, Fighting for Dominance, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, If you're Tony and Loki, Kissing, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, M/M, Magic, Mind Games, Power Play, Prince Loki (Marvel), Revenge, Rough Sex, Smut, Swordfighting, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Topping from the Bottom, Violence, Witcher Tony Stark, bringing a gun to a swordfight, powerful loki (marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26103715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabentochter/pseuds/Rabentochter
Summary: Everyone knows that Witchers carry two kinds of swords– silver for monsters, and steel for humans. But when Tony Stark is invited to the court of Nilfgaard, Prince Loki learns otherwise. For Stark holds a view most Witchers would reject—The view that humans are no different from monsters, and that they, too, should be wiped out.
Relationships: Loki & Odin (Marvel), Loki/Tony Stark
Series: Veni, Vedi, Witcher [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588387
Comments: 32
Kudos: 249
Collections: FrostIron*





	Steel for Humans

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by this quote—  
>   
>  _“I carry two swords. One of silver for creatures that roam the wild. One of steel for humans in their cities of stone. They’re both for monsters.”_  
>   
>  Art by **Rabentochter** , fic by **NamelesslyNightlock.**

When Odin had put out a call for a Witcher, Loki had barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

Odin’s ploy, after all, was easy to decipher– and Loki knew that a Witcher could never be dull.

_Monster slayers needed. The monsters are quick to attack, inventive, blood thirsty, and killing men in their thousands._

No Witcher worth their medallion would answer that call– every single one would immediately recognise what it was that Odin was trying to get them to do.

After all, it was well known that the King of Nilfgaard sought to expand his domain across the rest of the continent, to take control of the entire _world._ It wasn’t a difficult jump to guess that he hoped to use the Witchers to help him do it.

Yet—

Loki was proven _wrong._

Usually, that would leave a sour taste on his tongue– it didn’t happen often, and when it did it was usually accompanied by mocking words from his brother and others. But… this time, as Loki stood in the shadows behind his father’s throne, watching the Witcher stride across the hall leaving bloody footprints in his wake—

Loki did not taste the usual bitterness in the slightest.

The man was shorter than one might expect for someone with such a fierce reputation– for indeed, Loki knew who he was before the Witcher gave his name. Tony Stark, known for his efficiency, and his coldness. He killed without mercy, and for a high price that no other Witcher would ever ask– though of course, no one would ever refuse him.

It was interesting that he would come now, when Odin asked only for the death of _people,_ not monsters– though it was clear that the Witcher had _already_ fulfilled part of his contract, without having yet been asked.

For as he approached Odin’s throne he pulled a sack from his shoulder– a sack of light brown hessian, which made it very easy to see how the bottom of it was stained red with blood.

He spoke as he stopped before the throne, not waiting to be addressed nor offering any respect.

“These were trying to get into the palace.” The Witcher opened the sack, and upturned it– and onto the ground fell five _heads,_ landing with echoed thumps and then rolling across the no longer clean floor. Several of their eyes were open, bulging in a silent scream– and Loki knew that their blood would mark the blades of the swords strapped across the Witcher’s back. “I expect that you will pay me for my trouble? This _is_ what you wish to hire me for, after all.”

Loki enjoyed the low amusement in the Witcher’s tone, and he felt his own lips curl into a smirk. Oh, this one was a piece of work– and Loki could already tell that he was going to enjoy riddling Stark out.

Because– Witchers _did not kill humans._ It was why Loki had believed Odin’s plan to fail. Yet apparently… this one _did._

“It is true that we suffer attacks, raiders,” Odin said. “Patrols have informed me that there were insurgents in the forest, though I know not where. It is possible that there are more. You will find them and kill them, and you will be well paid.”

Stark nodded, his expression unconcerned. “Half now, half later.”

“No, you shall receive _all_ of it later,” Odin countered. “I trust you recognise that I will have no problems in paying the full sum, and I promise you. That sum will be higher than any other would be willing to pay, provided you do as you are asked.”

Stark held Odin’s gaze for a few moments, his gold eyes gleaming against the colour of blood– and that was _many_ moments longer than anyone else had ever dared, at least to Loki’s knowledge. And Loki found that he couldn’t tear _his_ gaze from the Witcher, not from his bloodied, brown leather clothes, not from the streak of red across his temple, not from the ease of his posture nor the tight set of his lips– from the fiery gaze that made Loki wish to know exactly what was burning behind it.

Then, Stark nodded– and turned without a word.

Loki stepped forward, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “You hope to use him more than once,” he observed, already sure that he knew the answer.

“Witchers never stay long in one place,” Odin said, shaking his head slightly. “As useful as he could be, I know that it is a lost cause to hope that he will stay forever. Though, I do not need him as much as I did when I called.” Odin turned, considered Loki with an assessing gaze. “I am glad you returned home, my son.”

Loki nodded, though his eyes were not on his father– they remained on the door as it swung shut once more.

“Yes,” he said. “As am I.”

—~—

It did not take long for the Witcher to return, bringing with him not severed heads this time but a scrap of cloth instead.

He threw it on the ground before Odin, and Loki did not have to lean in to know what it was– for the bloodied material bore the crest of Cintra.

“They’ll all dead, every last one,” Stark said, his shoulders shrugging as if he spoke of nothing but the weather. “Your patrols should be able to find their corpses amongst the trees, if you wish to check.”

Odin glanced to some of the guards standing by the wall, needing to give no further order to send them scurrying away.

“You’ll understand me holding on to this until they return?” Odin asked, lifting the bag of coin he had brought with him– a rather substantial sum, more than Loki would have expected Odin to pay.

The Witcher arched a brow. “If you’ll understand my asking for food and ale while I wait?”

Odin inclined his head in agreement to that, and then the Witcher – without bothering to bow his head as protocol demanded – turned on his heel and walked back out of the hall once more.

Loki did not hesitate in following, slipping from the shadows and through a corridor to the side. He arrived at the kitchen before the Witcher, and warned the cooks– who handed Loki some food and left without argument.

And Loki was sitting at the worn table in the kitchen with the food before him when the Witcher walked into the room to pause at the sight of him.

“I should have guessed that I would not be permitted to wander unsupervised.”

Loki smirked, and gestured to the chair opposite him. “Not at all. I merely wished to talk to you.”

Stark frowned. “And if I do not wish to talk to _you?”_

“Then I shall leave. But it may be in your best interest to at least listen to me.”

After a moment of consideration, Stark took the seat he was offered. Once he had pushed the plate of bread, meat, and cheese across the table and the Witcher had begun eating, Loki allowed himself a moment to observe the man opposite. It was clear that Stark had not bothered to wash before entering the throne room, for his skin remained splattered with the blood of the men he had killed and the grime from travel through the forest. The sight though, rather than making Loki feel disgusted… instead turned Loki’s breath a little shallow.

He’d always had rather… disquieting tastes, as the other mages at his academy had put it.

“You wished to talk?” Stark asked, his mouth half-full of food, his expression severe. “Then talk. I’m only staying as long as it takes me to finish eating.”

“You won’t leave before you’re paid,” Loki said.

“I can at least leave to find a bed. I am sure your father will not deny me that.”

“I’m sure you’re right. He’s afraid of you, you know.”

Stark paused with a piece of bread half-way to his mouth– then he put it back on his plate, tilting his head with a touch of curiosity that made Loki need to hold back a smirk.

“Now,” Stark asked, “why would you tell me something like that?”

Loki shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. “You already knew it to be true.”

“He hides it well.”

“That makes no difference.”

“Perhaps not.” Stark leaned forward slightly, both hands on the table. “Yet, even just your acknowledgement of it could be considered treason. Your father needs to appear strong, especially now. So I ask again– why would you say such thing?”

“Because _he_ may be afraid of you,” Loki replied, finally allowing his lips to curl– “But I assure you, I am _not.”_

Stark matched his sharp smile. “That might be a mistake.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Might I ask why?”

“You kill monsters,” Loki said, showing his teeth. “And you kill humans. But I… am not wholly human.”

Stark leaned back at that, and crossed his arms over his chest– but although his posture might suggest he was closing off, the interest in his gaze said otherwise.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll bite. Tell me, Prince Loki. What is it that you wished to talk to me about?”

“Oh,” Loki grinned. “So many things. The first being a question of a contract.”

“You wish to hire me?” Stark’s voice almost went back to being bored– but Loki was far from done.

“I understand that Witchers usually prefer to travel,” Loki said. “But I also understand that you are not like most Witchers.”

“You understand that, do you?”

“I know that you have a reputation.” Loki arched a brow. “I know not why, but I have heard that so long as your blades are coated in blood and you are being paid, you do not care who the blood belongs to.”

“Oh my prince, you do flatter me—”

“Would you be willing to stay here?” Loki asked, leaning forward over the table as Stark had moments before. “Would you be willing to fight at my side, _with_ me– in exchange for hefty payment? Trust me when I say that I am not short on silver and gold, and I am more than willing to pay an even greater sum than my father. Per day, rather than per kill.”

Stark’s frown deepened, and his smile twisted into a snarl– an expression that might have had any man shrinking back, but. Not _Loki._

“You wish me to _serve_ you?” Stark snapped.

“Not at all,” Loki answered quickly, having half expected such a question. “I did not say I wanted you to fight _for_ me, I said I wished for you to fight _with_ me. At my side, not thrown in front. I do not need a bodyguard, I wish for a partner who would be able to match me in skill.”

The frown was gone– the amusement returned. “You believe _you_ can match _me?”_ Stark asked.

“Oh,” Loki said, his voice dropping a little lower. “My dear Witcher, it would seem that you have much to learn.”

At that, the Witcher’s gaze burned bright with _interest_ once more—

And Loki knew that he had him.

—~—

Odin was surprised when Stark announced his intentions to stay in Nilfgaard, but a single look from Loki ensured that Odin did not argue the matter. For while Odin might be King, he would not dare stop Loki from gaining something he desired.

Not anymore, at any rate.

Loki ensured that Stark would have rooms near his own, and that he would want for nothing. He gained the best stable for Stark’s horse, placing Jarvis next to his very own steed, and he gave instructions to the servants that Stark was to be treated as a member of the royal family.

The servants did not protest, many of them simply nodding with abject fear– fear that really, was inherently misplaced. So long as they did their jobs and remained loyal, Loki would never turn his ire upon them. Not like Thor might, in his anger.

Thor, of course, was another matter entirely. The crown prince of Nilfgaard was _not_ impressed that a Witcher was taking up residence in the palace, but even he dared not argue with Loki.

It was something that Loki relished in, something he hadn’t had before he had left for the academy. He supposed that something of his own reputation might have made its way across the Nilfgaardian border.

_Good._

But even though Thor deigned to keep his distance, he remained close enough that Stark was able to pick up on the slight oddity in their story.

“Your brother,” Stark said a few days after he had settled. “He looks as if he is far older than you, though I thought that the pair of you were very close in age.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed. “You are right on both counts.”

Stark frowned, but said nothing more. Loki knew it wouldn’t be long before he worked out the truth– for while it might be something that Loki had kept hidden from the roiling masses, he saw no need to keep it hidden from Stark. Not when the man treated people of _all_ races with an equal measure of distaste regardless.

Loki already knew that to Stark, at least, the circumstances of his birth would be no obstacle.

As time passed, the more Loki watched Stark… the more intrigued he became, the more invested in peeling away Stark’s layers to discover what lay underneath.

And from the way that Stark watched him… Loki could only hope that he wanted the very same.

—~—

It was only a week or so after Stark arrived that the Cintrans answered the disposal of their raiding party, attacking a small legion of Nilfgaardian soldiers that were camped across the old border, on land that Odin had long since claimed as his own.

Odin called a council, all of his sorcerers, advisors, and commanders gathering in the throne room. Loki remained in the shadows, watching and listening, while Thor took his place at Odin’s right hand.

But when it became clear that the situation was dire– that the encampment had been overrun, the Cintrans likely having gathered sensitive information, Loki knew it was an opportunity he did not want to miss.

“I will go.” He stepped forward as he spoke, coming to stand on his would-be father’s left side.

Odin turned to him, surprised– but seemingly not with a wish to argue. “Loki… alone?”

“Stark may come with me, if he so desires,” Loki said, glancing to where the Witcher was standing near the wall. “What do you think? Fancy whetting your blade with the blood of a few more… monsters?”

Stark smirked. “It’s what you’re paying me for, is it not?”

Well, no, it wasn’t– Loki was paying Stark to keep him in _place,_ something he didn’t doubt Stark had already deciphered.

“Then it is decided,” Loki said.

Odin drew a breath. “Prince Loki—”

“Only a mage can get there on time, you know this,” Loki said, uncaring that he was interrupting the king. “Just as you know that I remain Nilfgaard’s most powerful. And you also know that it would be… better, if I am mostly unaccompanied.”

Odin nodded. “Very well.” He turned to the rest of the room, finding no argument from them, either. In fact… several of those gathered appeared relieved.

Loki had to fight not to roll his eyes. _Cowards._

The moment it was decided, Loki went straight to his rooms to gather his armour. It was only minutes before Stark was knocking at his door– he was never without his armour or swords, so that was no surprise.

Stark frowned when Loki gestured him inside and then closed the door, instead of joining the Witcher out in the hall.

“I have no stake in this war, but if we want to stop the Cintrans from bringing their gained intelligence to their queen, then shouldn’t we be riding immediately?” Stark asked.

“You know as well as I do that we would never catch them,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “And you also heard what I said in the hall. Don’t play me for a fool, Anthony Stark.”

Stark’s expression twitched slightly– though whether it was due to Loki calling him out or because of the use of his ill-favoured full name, Loki couldn’t quite tell.

“A portal then?” Stark asked.

Loki did not reply verbally– he simply raised his hands to cast the spell, tearing a hole in the very fabric of the world.

It was a difficult thing to do– for unless one had a very clear picture of where they wished to be, they could be spat out at the very ends of the world, or perhaps into nothing at all.

But even though Loki knew not exactly where the Cintrans would be, even though he had been given only a location of the camp by the single, injured soldier who had made it back alive, he knew that he would be able to find them.

He was not an ordinary mage, after all—

And his portal brought he and Stark exactly where they needed to be.

Stark did not say it, but when his brows raised at the sound of approaching horsemen along the road Loki had landed them upon, Loki knew that he was impressed.

The thought had Loki smiling viciously, even as his knives slid into his hands in preparation.

“Do we have a plan?” Stark asked, his voice almost disinterested, his own gaze firmly on the road—

“Of course we do,” Loki said. “Kill them all.”

Stark grinned at that, baring his teeth menacingly, drawing both his swords—

And Loki’s eyes widened when he saw them– for the first time, he realised. Because… usually, Witchers carried two types of weapons.

Silver for monsters, steel for humans.

But– _both_ of Stark’s swords looked to be made of exactly the same metal, and Loki wasn’t sure why, but… the sight of that sent a shiver down his spine.

Not just a shiver of fear, however– a shiver of anticipation, of desire—

And when he turned his gaze back to the road, he was almost vibrating with it.

The horsemen came upon them without slowing, their own weapons in the air, their faces painted with snarls. An archer rode out toward the side, his bow drawn—

And he fell from his horse mid-stride with one of Loki’s knives in his heart.

The other horsemen responded with a cry of rage—

And they were matched by Loki’s own snarl as he dashed forward, blades dancing through the air with violent intent.

At first, Loki didn’t take much notice of Stark, focusing on his own fight. He was accustomed to fighting alone, after all– never matched by another sorcerer, he’d never had a partner. His knives struck through skin and tore men from their mounts, shredding flesh from bone and ripping screams from throats.

Stark’s swords had a greater reach than Loki’s daggers, and he moved almost as fast– and had Loki not been having so much fun himself he might have become distracted watching him.

Even as it were, when the tide of the fight pulled them together Loki couldn’t help but make one comment.

“Your swords,” he said, sparing them a precious glance. “They’re both steel.”

“Yes,” Stark said, his grin looking feral through the blood that dripped down his face.

“Then… how do you kill the monsters?”

“Oh, my prince,” Stark hissed. “I _am_ killing monsters.”

He spun as he spoke, taking the head off one of the dismounted horsemen and then using the force of his swing to slam the blade into the leg of another as he rode by.

The man screamed as his horse reared—

But the scream did not last long as one of Loki’s daggers landed in the man’s throat with a wet thud, the sound turning to a gurgle.

Then there were only five men left, all still on horseback– one of them turned and ran, while the others circled around where Loki and Stark were standing back to back.

“Three for me, one for you?” Stark said, his voice gruff as he spun one of his swords to adjust his grip.

Loki wasn’t given the time to reply, as the four horsemen lifted their weapons and charged forward with a cry—

But then Loki let out a cry of his own, throwing out his hands in explosion of raw _power._ He didn’t bother directing it, save for ensuring that it bent safely around Stark, even pressing back against him so that they were as close as possible. The violent, unrelenting energy surged outward in a massive wave, blasting the four men from their horses, tearing the trees around the road from their roots. The ground shuddered and cracked, the air filled with horrible, bloodcurdling screams—

And then the forest road fell silent but for the sound of Loki’s breathing and the remaining whispers of fleeing birds.

When Loki turned it was to see that Stark looked impressed, even if it was grudgingly so– but then his gaze caught on something over Loki’s shoulder, and he thrust the point of one gory sword into the ground before digging his hand inside his leather coat.

“You missed one,” he muttered—

Loki glanced back to see that the horseman who had run away had almost crested a hill, and would soon be out of their sight. Loki raised his hand, preferring to use the energy to kill him now rather than needing to create another portal to chase him down– but before he could cast his spell a loud _crack_ echoed through the air—

And the man in the distance fell from his horse hardly even a moment later.

Loki blinked.

Then he turned to Stark.

“What in the name of Chaos _is_ that?” Loki asked.

Stark shrugged, and held up the device in his hand. “You asked how I kill the monsters– the wild creatures that humans consider to be monsters, at any rate. This is how.”

Loki swallowed. “You still have not answered my question,” he said.

“Well, I call it a firearm,” Stark said, turning the weapon slightly so that Loki could see it better. “Because it’s an extension of my arm, and it fires projectiles. Much smaller projectiles than an arrow or crossbow bolt– and at much greater speed.”

Loki stared for a moment, allowing his eyes to linger. The device was mostly wood, a little shorter in length than Stark’s forearm and curved in shape. There were brass plates on the side and something of a lever underneath, with space for a few fingers to pull it.

“Here, look.” As Stark tilted the weapon again, Loki saw that the main body of it was like a pipe. “I place a small projectile in here, made of silver. Then, using black powder, the projectile is shot through the air. Despite being small, it _will_ kill.” Stark smiled once more, and then shoved the weapon back into his jacket. “Usually, I’d save the bullet, but I couldn’t just let you have all the fun.”

“Why do you not just use that all the time?” Loki asked. “Why bother with swords if—”

“Well, it only shoots one projectile at a time,” Stark said, his smile darkening. “Likewise, monsters usually fight alone. But humans will come at you in a group… so I’ll use my swords for them.”

Loki opened his mouth to reply to that, but the words caught in his throat as he suddenly realised how close Stark was standing. They’d been close already from the fight, but there was barely half a yard between them even now.

“My firearm aside,” Stark said, his voice low. “It would seem that _you_ have been holding back on me, my prince.”

“You knew that I was a mage,” Loki replied– but he didn’t bother to hide the amusement in his tone. “And you know that I am not a mere human.”

“I know that you don’t need my sword _,”_ Stark replied darkly, stepping closer still. “I _know_ that you don’t need my skills. I knew it when you asked, and I can _see_ it now– you could tear a whole army apart with your bare hands.”

“Well, not my _hands,”_ Loki said– and he allowed a little of his seiðr to come to the surface as he did so, using it to make the green of his eyes gleam brighter. It was a trick he had learned as a child, a trick that would normally cause anyone who saw it to squirm in discomfort.

But not Stark.

“You’re not paying me to fight,” Stark said, leaning in so that his breath danced over Loki’s skin. “And you certainly don’t need my protection. So I’ll ask again… _why_ am I here with you?”

Loki smirk sharpened. “You know,” he taunted, “I could ask you exactly the same thing.”

And Loki knew that Stark could have given a very simple answer, because of course, Loki _was_ paying him in silver and gold. But, instead, and just as Loki hoped– Stark leaned forward the rest of the way and crashed their lips together.

Loki moaned at the harshness of it, and dragged Stark closer as they kissed with the same fierceness they had used to fight. Stark’s lips tasted of iron and salt but Loki did not care– it only heightened the passion, inflamed the desire inside of him. After all, it had been _this_ very side of Stark which had made Loki want him in the first place.

Loki barely broke the kiss as he created a portal with a thought, knowing _exactly_ where he wanted them to be—

“Should we catch the horses?” Stark asked, his lips still brushing Loki’s as if reluctant to stop. “They may have a message—”

“Do you think that I care about my father’s war?” Loki asked, his voice brimming with dark amusement, his breath still ghosting over Stark’s skin as he interspersed his words with further nips of his teeth and slides of his tongue. “He wants the world, and he is more than capable of taking it. But I spent so many years under the brotherhood, told that to prevent events like these is my very purpose, that to _serve my king_ is my only calling, provided that in doing so I further the agenda of the _brotherhood_. But I have had enough, and I will serve no longer. I live for myself, I am here for _myself._ As are you, I believe.”

“Yes,” Stark groaned. One of his hands slid down to grip Loki’s ass, and then he pressed their hips together– and then it was Loki who groaned as he felt that Stark was just as affected by their kiss as he was.

“If we leave the horses,” Loki breathed, “They will return to Cintra. If they carry a message… more Cintrans will march, more men for us to kill.” Loki slid a hand between their bodies, under the edge of Stark’s coat to cup the growing bulge in the Witcher’s pants. “I believe that is something you might like. More monsters to kill?”

“Men, monsters, they’re all the same,” Stark said. “I used to believe that humans held some good in them, but then– they attacked my home, killed all my friends.” He reached up, and closed his fingers around the medallion he wore, the one that marked him as a Witcher. “They burned it all down, and to my knowledge, I am the only Witcher of Crane School left alive.”

“Then let us kill all of _them,”_ Loki hissed. “As many as we can. The Cintrans killed my people too—”

“Nilfgaard attacked first—”

“I’m half _elf,”_ Loki said– and Stark’s eyes widened in understanding—

Before he leaned back in to crush their lips together once again.

There was no mercy in their kiss, no chance to call for quarter—

“Together,” Loki hissed into it, near kneading Stark’s erection in his hand– “ _Together,_ we’ll leave them in a river of blood, until the only monsters left standing are _us.”_

Stark’s reply was to tear at the laces of Loki’s pants, to take Loki’s cock into his hand—

Loki shoved at Stark’s shoulders, forcing him through the portal at his back– and then they fell into Loki’s bed, staining the sheets with blood as they tore at each other’s clothes, lost in a haze of passion and desire and a _need_ so damning Loki had never felt anything like it before.

There was violence to every movement, and Loki loved every _second,_ crying out as Stark’s teeth dug into his skin, as Stark’s hands brought him to aching hardness with rough strokes that almost hurt as much as they pleasured. Loki’s spine arched into the mattress as Stark’s fingers found his already clenching hole, burying inside him, curling into that one spot that had Loki unable to do more than gasp—

Until he shoved at Stark’s shoulders, flipped them around and straddled his waist before gripping Stark’s oil-slicked cock. He positioned himself with a practiced hand and then slid down with a heady moan, feeling the burn as he was stretched by Stark’s girth.

Stark was panting under him, sweaty and shaking as he clearly fought to keep from moving– but while Loki appreciated the patience, it wasn’t what he _wanted._ He leaned forward, one hand pressing into the mattress, the other pressing hard against Stark’s throat.

“ _Fuck_ _me,”_ Loki ordered—

Stark’s eyes almost rolled back into his head as Loki pressed even _harder,_ cutting off Stark’s oxygen—

But then his hips bucked– and Loki let up slightly, rising up on his knees before slamming back down. He kept up a fast pace, rough and hard and so, so good—

Stark was crying out, cursing, swearing up a storm around Loki’s name– everything interspersed with gasps as Loki continued to squeeze his throat, not as hard as he had at first, but hard enough for Stark to _feel_ it without restricting his breathing entirely. Stark’s hands were gripping Loki’s hips tight enough to bruise, and Loki’s aching cock bounced between them with every thrust, the fiction as it brushed Stark’s stomach only _just_ enough to torment.

But Stark felt so good inside him that Loki thought he might come from that alone– that, and the look of pure bliss on Stark’s face, the feel of his racing pulse under Loki’s hand, the way his mouth was gaping open, his pupils blown so wide there was hardly any of that captivating gold left—

Loki leaned down to catch Stark’s lips in a sloppy, near forced kiss, neither of them capable of any kind of finesse. The change of angle caused Loki to let out a moan louder than before, and then Stark shifted a hand, wrapping it around Loki’s cock in a grip that was almost _too_ tight. And Loki felt like he was right on the edge, about to come, but the tightness of Stark’s fingers was causing him to teeter over with such blinding pleasure without—

Then Stark shifted his hand into a proper stroke and Loki came with a _shout,_ spilling ropes of white cum over Stark’s chest. Both of his hands clutched the sheets as if for dear life– and granted the ability to once again draw a proper, deep breath, Stark gripped Loki’s hips once more, bent his knees, planted his feet, and fucked Loki within an inch of his life, thrusting his hips between the mattress and Loki’s ass with such force Loki snarled—

And then Stark’s cock was jerking inside him, Stark’s expression once more shattering to pieces as he filled Loki with his hot release. He let Loki go once he was done, but Loki did not move far– he let himself fall on top of Stark’s bare chest. Stark didn’t seem to mind, if the press of a hand against Loki’s ass was any indication.

“You’ll stay with me,” Loki said– and while it wasn’t a question, it wasn’t really an order, either.

“We’ll see,” Stark replied, sounding entirely and utterly spent– but he pulled Loki a little closer, the hand on Loki’s ass squeezing for a moment before going slack once more.

Loki knew the truth. He’d ensnared Stark just as surely as the other man had ensnared him. Stark’s desires were just as depraved as his own, they were each other’s only possible match—

And neither would be letting go any time soon. 

They were lying in the blood of the men they had killed, mixed with the stickiness of their own pleasure– but Loki did not think that he had ever wanted anything more in his life.

Because yes, they too were monsters—

And they would make sure that the world could never forget it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the art for this fic on tumblr [here.](https://rabentochter.tumblr.com/post/627429144739889152/another-witcher-au-steel-for-humans-with-the)


End file.
